


Breathe Deep, Breathe Out, Breathe Slow

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-stars that hate each other AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Deep, Breathe Out, Breathe Slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tersaseda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tersaseda/gifts).



> Prompt: “Things you said when we were on top of the world”

The camera flashes are bright, near-blinding, and the cheers from the crowd are a dull roar in her ears, drowning out the noise of the clicking shutters and the incessant chorus of demands from the photographers.

_Over here! Right here! Emma! Look here! Give us a smile!_

She doesn’t need the prompting, she’s done this routine hundreds of times. It’s easy enough, Red Carpet events are just another part of the job, and it’s automatic now, the way she tilts her head to her best angle, how she transforms her expression to something sultry and enticing with just a small curving of lips.

Though perhaps it’s a good thing that she can so easily switch into autopilot, because then no one can tell that she’s distracted. No one will see that her attention isn’t on the cameras or the screaming fans because she’s too hyper-aware of the warm hand on her back, the gentle brush of calloused fingertips as they trail down her spine while she settles in beside  _him_  for customary (obligatory, really) co-star pictures on Premiere Night.

She’d tried to get out of them (surely the press tour and all of the joint interviews and photos leading up to the screening had been enough to placate the masses, she didn’t need to meet him on the Red Carpet  _too_ ), but management wouldn’t concede. The two romantic leads of the most anticipated film of the year couldn’t  _not_  take photos together, the idea alone was  _blasphemous_ , quote unquote.

But she knows better, she knows the higher ups are milking this… _thing_  between her and English heartthrob, Killian Jones, for everything it’s worth. (Not that it’s a  _thing_. It is  _not_  a thing.) She doesn’t blame them, she understands it from a business standpoint, and they certainly wouldn’t be the first co-stars marketed in a romantic light for the world to fall in love with. Single, attractive, chemistry up the wazoo. Not to mention at the helm of a multi-film adaptation for a book series that’s been a worldwide phenomenon for years.

_All press is good press._  That’s what she’d been told once, and she’s come to find that it actually never really matters what the truth is. Whether there’s something going on or not, whether she likes it or not, she and Jones are stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, at the top of the world, on display for everyone, riding the “are they or are they not” angle the public has become obsessed with.

His hand moves down, settles against her lower back and her body reacts immediately, uncontrollably, igniting from the inside. She tries not to think too much about how she just… _fits_  there at his side, practically melting into him at the gesture. The whole thing is far too comfortable for her liking and it takes quite a bit of her self-control not to stiffen or worse,  _inch closer_.

She won’t give him the satisfaction of any sort of reaction though, especially not in front of all of these cameras and people (but she will curse Ruby and her style team to the ends of the world for putting her in this getup with a plunging back, making her too sensitive over and conscious of his touch).

He shifts beside her, the move quick enough to catch her off guard, and by the time she realizes his intentions, it’s too late for her to do anything but accept the kiss he presses into her cheek. Heat blooms from that one point of contact, an electric current that moves across her shoulders and zips sharply down into every part of her body. Her stomach clenches and she grits her teeth, forces her breathing to remain even while the camera flashes go off in a frenzy and the crowd erupts once more into cheers.

It’s a chaste kiss in comparison to the things they’ve filmed in this movie, but it doesn’t stop her from vividly recalling every hot, eager brush of his mouth, the demanding stroke of his tongue against hers, how he’d stolen her breath when he’d deeply angled his head for more. All of the unscripted kisses taken at his leisure – passionate, tender, everything in between.

_Not a thing, not a thing, not a thing._

He lingers longer than necessary, the scruff on his chin scratching into her cheek and sending another jolt down her spine. Goosebumps rise on her skin and this time she can’t keep from shuddering lightly. His answering chuckle against her warming flesh is infuriating and she tells him as much by digging her fingers into his side. She knows the affectionate act was meant to get on her nerves, but she also knows the picture they make — wrapped up close like this, appearing to share a secret while everyone else looks on and eats it up.

Instead of leaning away, he merely moves his lips to her ear. “Eyes of the world, darling,” he murmurs in that rough, accented voice of his, reminding her that their roles extend beyond the screen now.

‘ _Exclusive: Fairytale Come to Life!_ ’ her ass.

Of course, his hand chooses that moment to boldly slip just a little lower and he grins at her when she turns her face towards him. She’d always opted for neutrality – neither encouraging the fans or media, nor purposefully disappointing them. Whatever they wanted to believe was their prerogative.

Jones had other ideas.

But he’s an asshole like that, a willing participant in management’s whims, feeding the growing rumors of a blossoming romance between them, claims that had been sparked by their chemistry when the first teaser trailer of their film had aired.

Her face is the definition of fondness, returning his dimpled smile with one of her own. “Watch that hand, pal,” she says through her teeth, lips unmoving.

“Just showing a little appreciation, love.” He blinks innocently at her, speaking as she did – through his own teeth.

“Yeah, well, you’ll appreciate a little higher if you know what’s good for you.”

He ignores her warning, tucking her more firmly against him so she feels all of his hard lines pressed into her soft curves. “You look beautiful tonight,” he comments.

Emma squints her eyes slightly to keep from rolling them and he laughs – full-bodied, down in the gut – after reading her expression clear as day. The sound settles warmly in her belly, an unwelcome and irritating sensation, and she has to remind herself to fight against the frown tugging on the corners of her mouth. The photographers are relentless and they’ll capture every single expression that crosses their faces, and she can’t imagine management would be too pleased with a ‘ _Lovebirds’ Red Carpet Spat!_ ’ headline tomorrow.

Jones has the audacity to wink at her, his eyes dancing with mirth, and she scrunches her nose, grins wider to cover her sneer before turning to give the cameras a few shots of them  _not_  looking at each other.

(Perhaps, it’s more just a reprieve for  _herself_ , the only way she can escape his too-blue gaze and the crinkles around his eyes when he laughs.)

“God, I hate you,” she mutters, maintaining her poise and smile like a master ventriloquist.

He’s shamelessly close again and she sighs internally, knowing the tabloids will have tons of juicy material to splash across their covers come morning. She can feel his breath hot against her ear once more.

“If I didn’t want to peel this dress off of you with my teeth, I might say the feeling was mutual.”

Her brain is a traitor, conjuring flashes of images it has no business conjuring. The press of his lips down her spine, across her shoulders. Rough hands impatiently tugging on silken material. The sharp scrape of teeth along her collarbone. The skirt of her long gown rucked up to her hips, his head between her legs, tongue circling her clit.

There’s a sudden inferno simmering under her skin, burning in her blood, a desire to tear through the stupid gold buttons and chains keeping his navy-colored jacket securely closed. To shove him on his back and shut him up, to put that mouth – and the rest of him for that matter – to better use.

“I’ll be sure to send Ruby your thanks,” she huffs, paying no mind to the heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks, or the way his lips curve up into a smirk as he casually drapes his arm around her shoulders and guides her towards the next group of photographers.

_Not a thing. They are not a goddamn thing_.

(If you say something enough, you start to believe it, right?)

_Fin_


End file.
